


Just Sleep

by Happynotfound



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Could be platonic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Or Is It?, Sick Character, Sickfic, rated mature for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:40:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26519911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Happynotfound/pseuds/Happynotfound
Summary: George wakes up feeling ill, and after suffering alone, Clay finds him wallowing in his misery and takes care of himA quick fic because I needed some domesticity
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 352





	Just Sleep

Shivers wracked his body, no amount of blankets or number of times that the thermostat was turned up could change that. George had tried and failed to find the thermometer he knew he owned, the bathroom drawers were overturned after the sickly fumble when George shuffled through the contents of the cabinets and drawers.

The occasional cough reminded him of the headache that was only growing as the time passed. Clay had left for a friend’s house several hours earlier, but it was hard to tell just how long it had been, George was just on the edge of consciousness as he laid on the uncomfortable couch.

When George had woken up that morning, he had insisted that the small cough was nothing, and that he would be able to live through editing at least a bit of the video he and Clay had recorded a few days prior. Clay wasn’t quite as convinced, but he refrained from saying anything, opting to raise a questioning eyebrow towards the brunet.

At the time, the sore throat and cough had seemed like nothing, but now, George couldn’t remember what was happening in the cartoon he was watching, only that the flashing colors were beginning to hurt a bit more than they were a few minutes ago.

The brunet groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. Laying on the shitty couch had really taken a toll on his back. George stretched, spine cracking loudly, relief after several hours in the same position.

George sat up, the sudden movement leaving his vision swimming with black ripples.

Anemia, amirite.

His joints ached, his head hurt, his throat felt like it was full of razors, Well fuck me, he thought, the oncoming winter and George’s piece of shit immune system gave him a direct flight straight to the flu.

George spotted his phone on the coffee table, not too far away, and despite the ache in his arms, he reached across the gap. The cell was so close, just a few more inches and he’d be touching it. Almost...almost.

Thud

George was disoriented, landing face first on the hardwood flooring was not an ideal situation, especially since his brain didn’t quite process the fall in time to soften the blow. Ouch, was the only word that his fuzzy brain was able to produce. George sighed, resting his overheated forehead on the cool wood. A blanket still draped over the rest of his body, it was a nice balance of cold and warm and George found himself dozing in the new position, phone forgotten.

___________

The brunet woke to the sound of the apartment door opening, followed by the soft click of it shutting. The sound of footsteps were what shook him out of his sickly daze, he could faintly hear Clay kicking his shoes off in the kitchen, but he definitely heard the loud wheeze that came from the far side of the living room.

“George,” another wheeze, “what happened?” The blond took in the sight of his poor friend tangled in blankets and...cuddling the floor?

George groaned in response, his body stiff from the space of hard floor he had claimed as his napping spot. The brown haired boy sat up, leaning his left shoulder against the side of the couch, trying to calm his swirling vision to look Clay in the face.

George tried to speak, the soreness in his throat had returned full force. A weak “Hi,” was all that came out of the brunet’s dry mouth.

Clay watched as George rubbed his eyes, not unlike a child. George seemed to be pouting as he pushed his messy hair out of the way, but that might have just been the fever making itself known.

Clay moved closer, getting a better look at the tangle of blankets and limbs that was his best friend, wedged between the few feet of space between their couch and coffee table.

“Alright, George. I think you need to go to bed,” he offered, he wasn’t sure whether his comment had registered based on the still blank look on George’s face and the bleary eyed stare-down he was having with the blanket tangled around his ankles.

“George–” he started, but George fumbled with his legs, trying to stand and using the couch as a crutch despite the mess of blankets still wrapped around his lower half.

Clay watched, prepared to catch George when he inevitably fell. Headache or not, the hobbles on his legs were going to take him down either way.

George hauled himself off of the floor and on to his weak legs, after an attempted few steps, said weak legs gave out, leaving him tumbling toward the tall blond. George tried to regain his balance, he really did, but it’s kind of hard to have quick reactions when you’re sick as hell and your legs are bound together from the waist down.

Clay however, had a perfectly functional brain, and managed to break George’s fall, but just barely, Clay hauled the older boy up to full height before guiding him to sit down on the couch.

“Don’t move,” the younger said. George nodded numbly, kicking his legs to free himself from the flannel prison.

Clay gave the brunet another look before turning and walking towards the bathroom. George quietly waited for the blond to return, and when he did, lo and behold he had the thermometer.

Clay sat to the right of George on the hard-as-a-bitch couch, the thermometer in one hand and a bottle of tylenol in the other.

George stared dumbly at the sleek plastic stick.

“Open your mouth, stupid,” came from his right, followed closely by a short cackle.

“Oh,” was all that George came up with, before letting his mouth fall open.

After setting the tylenol down, Clay used his right hand to set the thermometer under the brunet's tongue, and his left to manually close George’s mouth with two fingers under his chin since it seemed like George was buffering for the moment.

George hummed at the room temperature plastic that was invading his space, moving his tongue to a more comfortable position before going back into his numb daze.

Clay sighed, shaking his head, he may have said something, but George didn’t quite catch it. The blond stood, smiling to himself as he walked into the kitchen. A few moments later he returned with a bottle of water to hear the small beep of the thermometer.

Surprised by the sudden noise, George let the thermometer fall out of his mouth, the plastic device landed in his lap with a slight bounce. “Oops,” was what came out of the brunet while the blond was left in a fit of giggles at the state of his friend.

Clay returned to the couch, plopping down hard next to George, grabbing the thermometer out of his lap. It read 101.2 degrees fahrenheit, not too bad, Clay thought, but the thought was interrupted by harsh coughs that made their way out of George’s lungs.

“Ugh, my head,” the older whined, leaning back and bringing his hands up to cup his forehead.

Clay grabbed the tylenol, shaking a few pills into his hand and passing them to George along with the cool bottle of water. George accepted the gifts, downing the capsules before pressing the cool bottle against the hot skin of his forehead.

Taking another sip, George cleared his throat, a very faint ‘Thank you’ could be heard over the still playing television in the corner, the darkening sky let the colors on the TV dance over the room. George let his hands rest in his lap as he slowly sunk into the couch cushions.

George sighed when a blanket was thrown over his lap and shoulders, leaning farther into the armrest of the couch and tucking his legs up to curl in on himself. Clay smiled at the finally relaxed state of the older man. The blond watched as the rise and fall of George’s chest began to get a bit steadier, and his breathing began to grow slightly heavier, he gently took the water bottle from George’s hands, setting it on the table in the center of the room.

Clay watched the older boy finally fall asleep, a fond smile on his face as he watched the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Clay himself took the opportunity to settle into the couch tucking his significantly longer legs up to mirror George, resting his head on his arm on the free arm rest. Would he end up sick tomorrow? Probably. But the calm look on George’s face as he napped was worth it.

The blond was comfortable, the room was dark and quiet, and the warmth of the apartment just made a nap sound so nice in the moment. So Clay slept.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, feedback is appreciated but not necessary of course. If any of the involved parties say anything about being uncomfortable with this material this will be removed. Ship personas not people


End file.
